.019 Per Cent - Black Hare Press

by Racheal Jones

Serelytra is acceptance.

Anne opens and closes her new left hand. It looks just like her right—pink nails, blue veins, a life line. It has life, blood, nerves, and bone. So why does the delicate scar around her wrist feel like barbed wire, dividing right from wrong?

Serelytra is esteem.

Her psychiatrist prescribes a green pill to take once a day with water. It’s helped millions with body dysmorphia and anorexia.

Serelytra is happiness.

The medicine doesn’t work. The left hand isn’t hers. She bites its nails, chewing down to bone before stumbling into the garage for a hacksaw.

Racheal Jones

Serelytra is acceptance.

Anne opens and closes her new left hand. It looks just like her right—pink nails, blue veins, a life line. It has life, blood, nerves, and bone. So why does the delicate scar around her wrist feel like barbed wire, dividing right from wrong?

Serelytra is esteem.

Her psychiatrist prescribes a green pill to take once a day with water. It’s helped millions with body dysmorphia and anorexia.

Serelytra is happiness.

The medicine doesn’t work. The left hand isn’t hers. She bites its nails, chewing down to bone before stumbling into the garage for a hacksaw.

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